


This is life after

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Punching out my dancelines [43]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: ...I'm sorry for making this weird, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baby Gil by proxy, DWMP verse, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, I admit it feels weird to tag both 'rimming' and 'they have a kid', M/M, Rimming, but they didn't sign away their rimming rights when they became dads, there's nipple play too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 01:32:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8824888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: New parents take workouts where they can get them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The notion of Fingon and Maedhros as exhausted new fathers keeps haunting me, so I made dirty domestic fluff. 
> 
> because what else would you expect from me

Ereinion Gil-galad, first of his name, scion of two great houses and five months old this Saturday, was asleep at last.

His fathers, who loved him very much, had for the past week been praying to every god they knew and some they made up that he would finally sleep.

They celebrated, very quietly, by splitting a cup of coffee.

Then Maedhros collapsed in the big chair by the window and Fingon began to fly about the apartment, looking for his workout clothes.

“I haven’t run in six weeks,” he said, shaking a toy frog out of one of his sneakers and pausing to remember how to tie shoelaces. “Or six years. I can’t remember. How long ago did we have a baby again? Every time we get a break there’s some bit of work to make up or some email to respond to or some family member calling or some part of the apartment that's actively rotting and needs to be cleaned – I’m so out of shape. I am Atrophy McOutofbreath.” He took two big pinches out of his waist. “Look at this, Mae, I’m muffin-topping.”

“I like muffins,” said Maedhros sleepily. It was late in the day but he was still in his pajamas, a pair of Fingon’s yoga pants that were too loose in the thigh and too short in the ankle, and which probably should have been washed a week ago. His large, bony feet were in slippers with the sides worn down, and Fingon spared him an affectionate glance.

“What are you going to do with your respite, Gramps? Nap?”

“I think I’m going to try and read, actually,” said Maedhros, glancing at the book on the end table beside him without much enthusiasm. The bookmark hadn’t moved since August. “I figure if I can push through Finrod’s musings on mortality I can get to what Curvo calls ‘the good stuff.’”

“The parts he contributed to, you mean.”

“Yes.”

Fingon pulled on his ear warmer; his hair, long overdue for a cut, flopped over the top and he swiped a curl out of his eyes. “Have you seen my reflector thing?”

“No,” said Maedhros. “Say, you look good in spandex.”

“I know, muffin-top and all. But seriously, the light’s fading and I don’t want to get sideswiped by a car. Is my vest over by you?”

“I dunno.” Maedhros yawned. “Come check.”

Fingon sighed dramatically and trooped over to rummage in the winter clothes bin on the shelf over Maedhros’s head while Maedhros flipped through Finrod’s _Conversations_ with only half an eye on the page.

“Can’t find it,” said Fingon at last and collapsed down into Maedhros’s lap. Maedhros dropped the book at once and put his arms around Fingon’s waist.

“I really do like you in spandex,” he said, his hands wandering down Fingon’s back.

“You’ve said.”

“You’re very… sleek. And… gropable.” Maedhros slid his hands down to Fingon’s buttocks, and Fingon laughed and squirmed. “And ticklish, apparently.”

“Not half as much as you are.” Fingon dug his fingers into Maedhros’s ribs to demonstrate and Maedhros immediately grabbed him tighter and attempted to squeeze him into stopping. They tussled on the chair, hissing insults and trying to stifle their laughter, conscious of the baby monitor on the end table. They ended up with Fingon on his back, half sliding off the chair and Maedhros on top of him, his long body resting between Fingon’s legs.

“I like your ass in spandex,” murmured Maedhros, whose eyes were suddenly very bright and whose hands were still wandering. He leaned forward and kissed Fingon on the lips. “Your ass in spandex is very nice. As are your thighs. And your…other things.”

Fingon made an encouraging sound and lifted his hips, the taut fabric of his running tights chafing revealingly against the thin material of Maedhros’s pants. They hadn’t had sex in weeks, maybe months – he could count on one hand the number of times it had been since Gil was born – and Fingon hadn’t minded, not really. They’d been so busy, so exhausted, so overwhelmed with this new Most Important Thing that Fingon hadn’t slowed enough to pay attention to his sex drive or to his and Maedhros’s increasingly rare moments of intimacy. But now Maedhros was kissing him with an urgency that Fingon had forgotten, and suddenly Fingon felt so wound up that he might have been a teenager again, desperately rubbing himself against Maedhros’s leg.

"Kiss me," he whispered, as if Maedhros wasn't doing just that. "Kiss me, I missed you."

Maedhros buried his face in Fingon’s neck with a growl, nipping his skin and then turning his head so he could tease at Fingon’s earlobe. They’d both had little time to shave recently and even Maedhros, whose ability to grow facial hair could best be described as ‘laughable,’ had stubble that scratched against Fingon’s skin. Fingon moaned at the sensation and Maedhros didn’t stop, simply fumbling a hand over his mouth and mumbling, “Shh. Baby.”

Fingon bit his lip and tangled his hands into Maedhros’s hair instead, pulling him close and grinding his hips up. He was fully hard already and Maedhros adjusted them both slightly so that they could slide more effectively together. Maedhros found his lips again and bit them until Fingon opened them for his tongue. Maedhros was being quicker and rougher than usual, the knowledge that they had little time making him possessive and demanding - and Fingon was always weak for Maedhros in charge.

Aroused to the point where it was getting uncomfortable, he could tell that the front of his pants were damp when Maedhros reached down to palm him through his clothes. Maedhros growled again and began to jerk down Fingon’s pants, just enough to free him.

“Should we get lube?” he asked, his voice still low but the eagerness in it enough to make Fingon’s hips rise again.

“There’s an unopened bottle in the drawer by the chair.”

The commanding urgency in Maedhros’s voice vanished. “Seriously? In the living room? What if we had visitors and they were looking for cards, or a coaster or something, and – ”

“Bitch at me later, Mae, _get the fucking lube and then get in my fucking ass.”_

Maedhros groped for the end table and pulled out the bottle with a grunt of satisfaction, his disapproval of Fingon’s cache forgotten. The plastic sealing the top soon proved too much for his fumbling fingers, and Fingon grabbed it from him as he was about to resort to his teeth. “Here, let me.”

As Fingon started to tear at the packaging, Maedhros dropped to his knees, folded Fingon’s legs back, and without ceremony began to mouth his balls.

Fingon swore, his fingers jumping. “Holy f – ”

“Shh,” said Maedhros again, indistinctly. “Baby.” Fingon couldn’t tell if it was a warning or an endearment, but he was too distracted to care. He tried to pick away at the plastic along the perforated tear lines, but it was hard to keep his hands steady when Maedhros had moved from sucking his balls to tonguing his asshole.

“You're doing a number on my fine motor skills,” said Fingon in a hoarse whisper, and nearly dropped the bottle as Maedhros’s tongue went deeper. “Hnnfggg.”

By the time Fingon got the bottle of lube open, Maedhros was making groaning noise of appreciation between his legs and Fingon’s cock was leaking heavily onto his stomach. He considered himself more ready than he had ever been, possibly in his entire life, but Maedhros seemed game to keep going down on him indefinitely. Finally, Fingon had to reach down and pull frantically at his ears.

“Mae, gorgeous, sweetie, baby, please, please, I got the lube open, please fuck me.”

“Hmn. You sure?”

“Yes, now, please, you beautiful _motherfucker_ , I’m serious, get your tongue out of my ass – ”

“Hmn. Language.” Maedhros took another moment to press a kiss to the base of Fingon’s cock, then rose up and took the bottle, squeezing lube onto his fingers to slick his own cock.

Fingon gnashed his teeth in impatience.

Maedhros turned a silver gaze on him that stilled him at once and made him feel, for the second time that day, like a teenager again. Then he pushed Fingon’s knees back – Fingon feverishly kicked one leg free of his pants so he could wrap his thighs around Maedhros’s waist – and positioned himself to press in.

Fingon bit hard on the back of his hand to keep himself from making any noise as Maedhros rocked slowly into him, but when Maedhros began to move faster and then pushed Fingon’s shirt up so he could mouth at Fingon’s nipples, Fingon let out a high pitched whimper.

This time Maedhros didn’t shush him. His teeth closed around the barbells that pierced Fingon’s nipples and tugged lightly, and Fingon arched back against the chair cushions. His headband had fallen down over his eyes and the bottle of lube was leaking onto the floor, but he didn’t stop to fix them. He dug his fingers into Maedhros’s back and pleaded in a whisper, calling Maedhros idiotic names and invoking imaginary gods, and Maedhros sucked at his piercings and gripped his buttocks hard enough to bruise and didn’t try to silence him.

They came at nearly the same time, pent up sexual energy making them both as quick off the mark as they had been in the early days. Fingon stuffed the corner of the afghan into his mouth to muffle his cry, but Maedhros let out a long, hoarse groan as his muscles trembled and tightened beneath Fingon’s hands.

“ _Finno_.”

"Good, yes," whispered Fingon dazedly. "Good, Mae, good job, baby, I love you, shhh."

They lay tangled in the big chair, listening to the drip of the overturned lube. Fingon’s running tights hung off one ankle, and Maedhros’s pajama pants were still pushed down to his thighs. Fingon tied absent, affectionate knots into Maedhros’s hair, and Maedhros methodically kissed Fingon’s left pectoral, and then the right, his stubble still scratching against sensitive skin. Fingon shivered happily and undid the knots. Once he had Maedhros’s hair rearranged to his liking, he flicked his eyes to the window; it was dark already.

“Too late for your workout?” mumbled Maedhros. “’m sorry.”

“I quite obviously just got it,” said Fingon, and pulled Maedhros up until he could kiss his mouth. “Sorry you never got to _Athrabeth Finrod ah The World_.”

Maedhros laughed at the sheer notion that he deserved an apology for being spared philosophy, and Fingon kissed him again, loving the laugh lines around his eyes.

The baby monitor gave a crackle and Ereinion Gil-galad, a radiant star, the apple of his fathers’ eyes and five months old today, started to cry.


End file.
